


let my love run wild, let me love you down

by silentmoons



Category: GOT7
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:24:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23972194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentmoons/pseuds/silentmoons
Summary: "See you later?" Jaebeom asks once they're outside Mark's apartment building. His face is close. So close. Jaebem could dip his head lower. Brush their lips together. He could—"Wanna come up? You can crash here," Mark suggests in a casual tone."I—I shouldn't," says Jaebeom. It's late, and it's cold, and they have been dancing around each other for months, almost a year now, and he's exhausted and lonely and all he wants to do is sway closer to Mark. "Okay, maybe—yeah, okay."
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB/Mark Tuan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 78





	let my love run wild, let me love you down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ppalgan7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ppalgan7/gifts).



> This was going to be so fake deep and rated M but I haven't slept and also I don't have a brain

He's on his third smoke break of the night, squatting down in the back alley with only inches between his tattered Converse and a sad puddle of unexpected rain and human gob, when BamBam bursts out through the STAFF creaky, rusty door to gawk at him.

"What." Jaebeom sighs, already throwing his half smoked, very much beloved cancer stick towards the godawful clump on the ground and feeling the pain of wasting a perfect cigarette down to his wallet.

"Hyung," says BamBam, bashful for once, scraping the tip of his treasured white chunky sneakers against the concrete, and that's enough to grab the suspicious side of Jaebeom's attention. "Hum. Some patrons are demanding your food, _or else._ I guess what they mean is they'll walk out."

Jaebeom clicks his tongue to suppress a chuckle, and gets up to unruffle his own hair and clothes, hands flushed purple-red from the outside air—winter weather has just about turned borderline bothersome at night, but his coat is currently buried in the cluster of a closet they have the audacity to call a breakroom, and Jaebeom had had more urging matters to attend than spending time trying to find it. It's been an unpleasant week. He is aware he needs to work on his coping mechanisms. 

So he follows BamBam inside, and even though this is a crappy and dingy old bar, the heater works well enough for it to be warm and marginally agreeable, the possibility of occasional mold looming over their heads and all. They find Mark ramming a round of soju bottles on the table crowded by loud middle aged men, and, four tables from that one, sits the group that had called for him.

"This isn't really a restaurant. Exhausted middle aged men come here to get blackout drunk without expending much," reprimands Jaebeom, edges of his voice tinted by exasperated fondness. "You have the Kim's samgyeopsal place just around the corner from here, lazy brats, and you bet your ass Yugyeom's mum would be a lot happier to see you than I am right now."

"We know," Former Idol & Now Solo Rapper Wang Jackson announces somberly as he stares at a mysterious greasy spot on the surface of the table. Jaebeom wants to throttle BamBam; his main job is to leave everything _spotless_ _clean_. "Jinyoungie misses you but he's too dumb to admit it."

"I do not," retorts Jinyoung easily, face hidden by the smeared and lacking-in-nature menu, mostly an assortment of simple anju and quick dishes. "I do miss hyung's special gopchang, though."

"Why would you come _here_ for gopchang of all places," Upcoming Soloist Choi Youngjae demands, appalled. "I understand he's a great cook, but—"

"Besides, we basically own this shithole. Our money keeps it alive. It's our fire dumpster." Jinyoung closes the thin book with a flourish. "Also, I'm only here for the drama."

BamBam asks, looking genuinely puzzled, "Do we even offer gopchang on the menu? Do we even have the _equipment?"_

"Your not knowing the menu of your own workplace is astonishing," Jaebeom deadpans. "Jinyoungie is just trying to rile me up. Go fetch them a round of beers."

Jinyoung's face splits open in the most sugary of smiles, a delight of puffy eyes and laughter wrinkles around them, and, then, a self-conscious hand to conceal his mouth. Jaebeom knows better than to trust the cute act.

"Anyway, isn't it too late for all of you to be here at this hour? Don't you have schedules in the morning?" Jaebeom clears his throat, turning to peek at the bar and lingering for a few seconds. "What are you here for, really?"

"Honestly, I just came to drop Jinyoung off." Jackson shrugs. He's watching Mark drudge behind the bar as well, chin propped on a hand. "Hey, what's the most ludicrous drink I can order? I want Mark-hyung to be impressed."

"Do you want him to hate you?" Jaebeom frowns scathingly, and wanders off to the kitchen, pretending not to hear Jinyoung's obnoxious snort.

They dwadle over their beers for so long they end up witnessing both the intoxicated men crawl their way out of the establishment in a shouting match, and Jinyoung thump his forehead on the table after suddenly falling asleep. " _Fuck,_ he is so embarrassing," Jackson complains at the same time Youngjae remarks, "His manager is gonna kill him tomorrow."

"We can take him home, hyung, don't worry. We know you're in charge of closing the bar," says Youngjae. Jackson jokingly rolls his eyes, standing at his shoulder. "Sorry for wasting your time. Jinyoungie-hyung really wanted to drop by. He's too stubborn to admit he misses you now that he has a hectic schedule."

"It's fine, Youngjaeyah. You're always welcome here. Text me when you're all home, alright?"

BamBam is first to wave his goodbyes, because Jaebeom would never admit to it, but he knows BamBam likes to walk home with Yugyeom so they can catch up on their day. Mark, on the other hand, stalls as much as he can every single night, cleaning cups and reorganising chairs and, sometimes, going as far as doing Jaebeom's job of checking the register.

"Hey," says Jaebeom, caging Mark behind the bar. "You seem tired. Wanna head out? I can finish everything."

"I'm fine," says Mark briskly, busy tying up a couple of garbage bags closed.

Jaebeom nods.

They lock the place together, and Jaebeom loiters around for a while, expects Mark to say something else, anything. Mark doesn't, still distracted by thoughts he's unwilling to share. He's attuned to mild Los Angeles winters, and buries his face in his gray wool scarf, hands concealed in his worn-out black duffle coat. Jaebeom, feeling his own bones rattling inside his body, shrinks in his cheap hooded down parka.

"Are you hungry?"

"Nah, dude. I just wanna smoke a couple of cigarettes, then head to bed."

Trailing behind Mark is natural by now, making sure he gets home safe as an excuse to spend more time with him, passing cigarettes back and forth in comfortable silence. It's the hush of early hours where night blends into morning slowly, sunrise a small infinite away, temperature dropping lower and lower before it picks up in the morning.

"See you later?" Jaebeom asks once they're outside Mark's apartment building. His face is close. So close. Jaebem could dip his head lower. Brush their lips together. He could—

"Wanna come up? You can crash here," Mark suggests in a casual tone.

"I—I shouldn't," says Jaebeom. It's late, and it's cold, and they have been dancing around each other for months, almost a year now, and he's exhausted and lonely and all he wants to do is sway closer to Mark. "Okay, maybe—yeah, okay."

Mark doesn't have roommates, yet Jaebeom insists on sleeping on the couch, as if they haven't slept on the same bed hundreds of times before. Mark frowns a little deeper, but dumps a comforter and a pillow onto Jaebeom, and disappears into his bedroom.

They have slept on the same bed hundreds of times before. They have done this hundreds of times before. There's no reason for Jaebeom's heart to be bashing against the inside of his chest so violently.

He can't sleep.

He listens to the dull murmurs of the apartment; appliances, and pipes, and neighbours moving about to start their day. And then at first he thinks he must be dreaming: the thud of socked feet padding across the apartment, and, a second later, Mark standing by the couch, arm stretched, palm touching Jaebeom's cheek.

"Beommie," he calls softly. Jaebeom is frozen in place. "Come to bed, Jaebeommie."

"Mark?" He sits up, heart still a riot. "Mark?"

"Please?" Mark whispers, leaning down so he can get a proper hold of the side of Jaebeom's neck, fingers trembling slightly. "I—I thought—"

So Jaebeom might be dreaming, and he can't let Mark simply slip away from him when he's right _here,_ soft, warm, wanting. This has gone on so long—"Mark," he sighs, and pulls him in.

Mark straddles his lap, and yeah, okay, this feels real enough. "Can I kiss you?"

Jaebeom opens his mouth to speak.

"I'm going to kiss you now." Mark holds his face very gently, and asks _okay?_ very gently, and very gently kisses him, right here on his couch, so early in the morning the world seems like it has come to a standstill. 

Jaebeom has a moment of hysterical panic where he considers the awkwardness of kissing someone for the first time, the awkwardness of learning how to best fit together, and then Mark tilts his head to kiss him intensely, filthly. Jaebeom's mind goes blank.

"I really, really like you, Jaebeom," says Mark, starting to get some distance between them.

"Don't, come back here, don't stop," says Jaebeom desperately, and finally relaxes when Mark laughs.


End file.
